For Anne Marie

The day before a night shift often feels like a " nothing day"
I grab a couple of hours sleep in the afternoon if I can,.....the rest of the time , I try to catch up with chores.
I prefer the word chores to jobs.

This morning I was worried that blog Rachel had been rather quiet in the middle of her jaunt across Russia. Now I understand she has been drunk and naked on a three day train journey through Siberia.
It sounds all too 1960s for my liking.
But at least she's alive........I did have visions of her being tied up and bitch slapped by some lesbian guard in a gulag somewhere very cold.

Winnie has the shits over the last 24 hours so has enjoyed a bespoke lunch of rice and chicken.
She sneezed in the middle of the rice and has " pebble dashed by newly painted green walls in the living room. (With the rice and not the shit)
I left George removing every individual grain with meticulous care as I am on my third trip outside to retrieve the washing as yet another heavy shower has soaked the garden

I've made curried parsnip soup.

I've collected all of the paperwork, photos and certificates which have been sorted, and have put all away into the living room cupboard whilst watching an episode of the new series of Taskmaster 
( Taskmaster is a comedy show where 5 comics undergo strange tasks set for them by the very funny Greg Davies)

Taskmaster is the only thing that has made me smile all day.....
I shall leave you with some photos requested by Anne Marie
New stove, new Windows, new fridge.....
God help me!

Family Ties

My elder sister is researching our family tree.
I am interested predominately in the maternal branch of the family which seems to originate between Quaker stock from Bristol and poor Irish folk from the back and beyond but my sister quite rightly is collating all the information from both sides.
Yesterday we went to see Joyce, my father's cousin to see if she could furnish us with more information.. Approaching 90 she is the oldest surviving member of his side of the family.

We chatted about this and that , made notes of a long forgotten aunt and had tea and cake, so my sister and I were not quite prepared when our host, with unexpected candour talked about just how dour and bad tempered our grandfather, her uncle, was.
In those days my great grandfather presided over his children with a somewhat iron and controlling fist and each one lived in a house which he had built, the houses set in a row. My grandparents brought up my father and his brothers right next door to Joyce and she remembered just how cruel my grandfather was to my father.
" we heard the beatings through the wall you see" Joyce told us " He used a belt with a.buckle and he never hit the younger boys just Ronnie..Ronnie was the eldest of course, it was always Ronnie that was beaten"
Joyce then recalled that the punishments became so bad that, that her grandfather was informed and subsequently intervened. And it was thought that the abuse stopped although they were never quite sure it did.
When he was alive , my father never spoke of this time at home.
This snippet of a sad part of my father's childhood upset both me and my sister, perhaps for different reasons.
I looked at him in a slightly different light than I had before , for I know, that it is common that the eldest child will often take abusive behaviour from a parent in a way of protecting other siblings.
Apart from the odd 1960s/70s smack , my father was in no way a cruel man with his children. In many ways, especially in later life, he was indeed a sensitive soul.
That's why this news, perhaps sounded so shocking.


* the photo is of the autumn sun glowing on the trees of the churchyard and was taken by teenage boffin Cameron

The Ghost Of Ty Wynne

Having said, only yesterday, that affable despot Jason is in the process of hibernating for the duration of the winter, I caught him outside his house " Ty Wynne" on Chapel Street in a pair of shorts during a break in the clouds.
I had just bumped into Mrs Trellis ( who thoughtfully invited the Prof and I around next Sunday morning for " good coffee and croissants") when I spied him and we fell into conversation about devil clowns running amok all over the country.
" There is a strangeness about this road at night" he added finally, when all clown talk was over
" sometimes you feel as though you are being watched"
A shiver went down my spine.
Now Jason lives on one of the oldest roads in the village. Although surrounded by houses and cottages, there are only two dwellings on the street, his house and Chapel house, both homes separated by the chapel which used to be the indoor market way back in 1700. Chapel street runs down the side of the village Hall.
When I was researching the history of the market Hall, I heard a strange story from Graham, the local handyman and Shepherd.
I quote from my sister blog Trelawnyd: Voices From The Past of his experience

In the early 1970s Ty Wynne featured in a somewhat creepy tale. Local small holder Graham Jones was just leaving the memorial hall one wintry and rainy night.. He had been playing snooker  and as he got on his bicycle he saw a figure of a man standing in the gateway of Ty Wynne.
The man was wearing an old fashioned long coat and hat, and seemed to acknowledge Graham before he cycled for home.
Literally a minute later Graham approached his home along London road and was astonished and frightened to see the same man standing alone outside his own gate!
Graham wisely stopped and returned for the morale support from his friends back in the hall and by the time he returned mob handed the "man" had vanished" 

Before I told Jason the story, he added to his, that he had often " quickened his step" when walking towards home at night because of the eerie feel of the place, something that was compounded one day when his daughter Eve went to play with a girl, whose house backed onto the road.
Both girls ran back home crying. They had been frightened by a strange man standing behind the memorial hall.
He was wearing a long old fashioned coat!

An Old Dog

In a position of absolute power, George slept between the Prof and I last night.

An old dog,with tired black button eyes.

A loyal old boy who asks for nothing.

Who demands nothing

And who is happy with his lot.

An old dog is near perfection

Btw.....I have a ghost story to share tomorrow! .......

Village News

Sandra on her allotment in the centre of the village,

The left part of the house behind her is auntie Glad's

The Prof is working this morning at campus so as the day resembles the greyness that Rachel loves so much in urban Russia, I am presently catching up with blog reading, the national news and  a good coffee.
Autumn is here and as so happens in Trelawnyd, the village seems to be shutting down for the winter.
Affable despot Jason has already told me that he will see me in the spring.
" I hibernate in the winter" he told me just the other day. His daughters were selling homemade bracelets at their garden gate at the time and Liv gave me one for the Prof.
That will umph his street cred with the younger undergraduates!

Sandra C knocked on our door yesterday. She was all breathless and giggly and reminded me of a cross between Felicity Kendal and and young Joanna Lumley.
Sandra is perhaps the nicest person in Trelawnyd.
She had tied her new pug to the gate where he stood smiling broadly at me.
Trust Sandra to have an equally happy and sweet natured dog.

" I 'm organising a Christmas fayre in the village hall in December and don't know what to do"  she gasped. Apparently the hall is in need of some decoration and funds need to be raised, she had offered and already she had some ideas for the music, a father Christmas,.......could I tell her about the legalities of raffle tickets, who could do the  food? was she allowed cream on the mince pies and could I introduce the singing school children....seeing that I could make a speech at the opening of a fridge door?. ......it all came out in a rush!
As a trained Samaritan, I found it pretty easy to calm things down and sent her away with some helpful  information, and the promise that I would galvanise a few volunteers to " do the refreshments"
" delegate key jobs" I told her " and have a jumble table in one corner......tat always sells"

Anyway for locals that may read going gently the fayre will take place on the 3rd of December....
If you have any further ideas to help out, donations for the raffle, offers of volunteering etc please contact a slightly stressed and goggle eyed Sandra at her house on Llys Mostyn.

My coffee has gone cold, but I like it that way....Albert is play fighting with Mary as the sun comes out, and the cottage bursts into light and life

Right, I'll go now, Saturdays are always low blogger reader days and so a long rambling blog entry is sometimes a waste of time, but I wanted to welcome the new commentators and visitors to Going Gently who numbers seemed to have increased recently. Ive only got 61 followers to go to shamelessly reach my 1000 ( and then I can die happy)
" I can't believe that so many people read your shit" one of my fellow nurses playfully commentated recently. " Old ladies, birds in tin cans, and homos... I just don't see the appeal "

" people enjoy a funny fairytale " I told her
" You're sooo gay" she told me back.

First Time

As promised...the Prof when we first met

Handsome boy!

Paperwork

It's a wet and miserable Friday.
Apart from the usual chores and my weekly Auntie Glad visit, I've been thinking of what else to do today.
I have decieded on " spring cleaning" our paperwork.
Now the kitchen table is awash with files, bills, photographs, old cards, certificates, receipts, memorabilia and officialdom.
The important and the rubbish, all retrieved from drawers, from the old wooden writing slope of the Prof's that I've never opened, from gaps in the book shelves and from the little arts and crafts desk standing in the living room by the stairs.

I note that most of the photographs are older ones, now we reply on icloud and laptops to store our memories.
They feature me with a waist and the Prof with hair.
Wedding cards wrapped in ribbon. Orders of service from ten funerals. Old school reports, University   assignments from a film degree course - marks all over 70%! Dog pedigrees, nursing peformance reviews. A black bordered card from Ethel Kennedy thanking my mother for her card of condolence, my father's wartime identity card.
Birth certificates, death certificates, certificates and more certificates.

The history of two lives. Sorted into piles on the kitchen table.

Note To Self..........

Note to self.........
When sneaking off for a relaxing 15 minutes in order to listen to a podcast of The Archers in a hot, soapy bath.
Always shut the bathroom door.